Saturday's Storyteller: "The air smelled of a familiar mix of cinnamon and adrenaline."
by Belinda Roddie The air smelled of a familiar mix of cinnamon and adrenaline. Of ginger ale and sweat. Of Bengal Spice tea and unbridled rage. The scents all attacked my nostrils with the same velocity and viciousness as the fist that left a dent in the concave part of my stomach. He had always been big and strong, and tonight, he made it very clear how big of a mistake I had made in telling him the truth. I could see the froth around his bearded lips like he was a rabid animal, the tension in his muscles as he set down the mug that he was going to fill with hot water. He tried to dump the scalding stuff from the kettle onto my body, but I evaded it just enough so that it only singed my toes after it splashed across the old linoleum. But he knew how to throw a punch. And he threw several at me, like an angry pitcher attempting to bean a batter with a sloppy fastball. The cinnamon that plagued my nose was from the toast he ate that morning. The ginger ale, a beverage I had chose